


Two Truths and a Lie

by DragonThistle



Series: Days You Think You'll Forget (but I kept a scrapbook full of polaroids) [9]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunken Shenanigans, Just Four Idiots Drinking and Having a Good Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/DragonThistle
Summary: "Let us have Wine and Women, Mirth and LaughterSermons and soda-water the day after." -Lord ByronorFour idiots walk into a bar to play a drinking game...
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), platonic - Relationship
Series: Days You Think You'll Forget (but I kept a scrapbook full of polaroids) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959427
Kudos: 9





	Two Truths and a Lie

“You’re wrong! You got it wrong! You have to take a shot!”

“I know! I know! Stop bullying me!”

Edd’s giggling, watching Matt’s face crinkle in disgust as Tom pours a splash of vodka into a shot glass and pushes it in front of the ginger. Matt grimaces but picks up the shot glass and throws it back. He nearly drops it back onto the table, sputtering as the vodka burns its way down, flapping his hands and sticking his tongue out, his eyes watering. The rest of the table is howling with laughter and Tom nearly spills the entire bottle as punches the table with each gut busting laugh.

“Shut up!” Matt barks, his face flushing, “It burns and it’s gross! Are we gonna keep playing or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tord wheezes, waving his hand in the air dismissively, “Such a drama queen. It’s my turn, yeah?”

With a last breathless giggle, Edd nods and rubs the tears from his eyes. He gestures for Tord to go and leans back in his seat with a sigh. The four of them are lounging around a noisy bar on a Saturday night, tucked into a booth off to the side, away from most of the hubbub. There’s a basket of picked over appetizers in the middle of the table and sweating glasses of water around it, but the real stars are the collection of shot glasses and the sticky bottle of cheap vodka Tom’s clutching with an eager grin. It had been a fairly normal outing before they’d started goofing around over the appetizers and Edd had proposed a game and Tom had proposed the stakes.

“Okay,” Tord breathes out and calms himself, letting a neutral expression smooth over his features, “I have never gotten a speeding ticket. I hate taking baths. I have never been to a live sporting event.”

Matt squints and narrows his eyes at Tord who simply offers him a smile. Edd is looking up towards the ceiling, tapping his fingers on his chin. Tom snatches another mozzarella stick from the basket and shoves the whole thing into his mouth, chasing it with a drink of water as he thinks. Tord’s smile is spreading, unable to keep himself from grinning as he watches them mull over their options.

“I do not believe,” Tom says after a moment, “For even a _second_ that you of all people have never in your life gotten a speeding ticket. I’m saying that’s the lie.”

Tord just shows off his teeth in a shark-like grin. Tom gives him the finger.

“Mmmmm, I’m with Tom on this one,” Edd says with a nod, “I’ve been in the car with you, I know how you drive. No way you’ve never gotten a ticket.”

“I think the lie is that you’ve never been to see a sport,” Matt says confidently, sticking his nose in the air. Tom snorts at him and Matt sticks his tongue out childishly.

Tord chuckles, “Actually, Matt is right. I saw a couple football games with my papa. You lose!” He points excitedly at Edd and Tom who gawk at him.

“How the _hell_ have you never gotten a ticket!” Edd demands while Tom pours them both shots.

“Lucky, I guess,” Tord says with a shrug, still wearing a pleased grin on his face.

“He’s got the devil’s luck,” Tom grouses, holding up his glass towards Edd, “Bottoms up, Edd.” They clink the glasses and both down the shots. Edd shivers, grimacing at the burn, but Tom doesn’t show any reaction at all. Typical for someone who chugs Smirnoff like it’s their lifeblood. 

“My turn!” Matt claps his hands together, beaming excitedly around the table, “Okay! Uuuummm. All right, all right, I got it! I like pineapple on pizza.” There’s a collective moan of disgust from the others around the table, “Quiet! I like pineapple on pizza. Purple is not my favorite color. I know how to knit.”

“You do not fucking know how to knit!” Edd says immediately, slapping his palms on the tabletop with a mean grin on his face, “Liar! Lies! You don’t know how to knit!”

Matt just giggles, bouncing in his seat and looking expectantly at the other two. Tord frowns at his glass of water, chewing on his straw. He opens his mouth, closes it again, “Uuummm, pineapple on pizza? Is the lie?”

Tom sits back smugly in his booth, “Purple is your favorite color, you liar.”

Matt pouts, “Aaww, I wanted to get all three of you!”

“Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” Tom chants as he pours two more glasses and hands them off to Edd and Tord, “Shots, boys, shots!”

“I hate this game.” Edd whines. He and Tord clink glasses and throw back with a grimace. Tom’s snickering at the pair of them and straight up barks out a laugh when Tord shudders and shoves his empty shot glass away. Tord flips him the bird and Tom kicks him under the table. Tord kicks him back and they might have started bickering if Edd hadn’t shoved Tord and told them both off for picking fights with each other.

“My turn anyway,” Tom sneers, showing his teeth at Tord who sticks his tongue out, “The first time I got arrested, I wasn’t wearing pants. I’ve been in a gay bar before. Aaaannndddd I don't have a college degree.”

“Have you been arrested? I’m trying to remember if you’ve actually been arrested.” Edd puts his chin in his hands, elbows on the table, frowning into the cooling appetizer basket, “Shit. I can’t remember, gimme a minute…”

Tord’s pinning Tom down with a narrow-eyed glare, his arms crossed over his chest. Tom grins cheekily at him and Tord wrinkles his nose, “Think you’re clever, eh, Jehovah? Screw you, I bet you and your toxic masculinity have never been to a gay bar before. Liar!”

Matt’s just frowning, “I don’t know! I don’t want anymore vodka! It’s gross!”

“Stop whinging and play the game, Matt!”

“Uuuuhhhggg, fine! Um, I dunno,” Matt tosses his hands into the air, rolling his eyes dramatically, “The first one is a lie, I guess.”

“Yeah, I can’t remember you getting arrested before,” Edd says, straightening up, “Imma say that first one’s a lie too.”

Tom’s grin widens, making the black voids of his eyes crinkle into nasty little slits. There’s a shit eating grin on his face and he instantly zeroes in on Tord, “Fuck you and your bigot mouth, commie. I have so been in a gay bar! It just wasn’t my kinda place. Drink up, short stop!” And he shoves another shot of vodka at Tord.

“This is bullshit.” Tord grumbles. But he picks up the shot glass and tosses it back, swallowing hard and slamming the little glass onto the tabletop with a grimace, “Uhg, it burns goin’ down. How do you chug this stuff on the daily.”

“Talent,” Tom says smugly, “And I’m dead inside.”

The game continues.

A fresh basket of appetizers and a new one of spicy chips are dropped off at their table, their waters topped off. The four of them pick over the treats in between fits of laughter, a mixture of absurd lies and even more absurd truths, and straight shots of alcohol from little tumblers. Their faces are flushed red, their words tripping over each other as their tongues weigh heavy in their mouths, fumbling their way around basic human motions. More than one splash of vodka is drying stickily on the tabletop. None of them are remotely close to sober. 

“Mmmnn ‘kay,” Tord has his chin resting on the tabletop, smiling dopily at his row of empty shot glasses, “M’turn. Uuuuuhh. I…uniforms ‘re a turn on fer me. Iiiiiii’m still a virgin. Uuuuuuuhhhhh aaannnddd I shhhhhhit m’self on the way to the bathr’m once.”

“Haha, virgin,” Tom slurs, leaning heavily on the nearly empty bottle of vodka, “Fffffuckin’…com-communist, uh…” He snorts out a giggle, “I bet you did—no, wait, you’re totally, mm, totally lyin’ about bein’ a viiiiiirrrrrgin.”

“Yeah, totally lyin’.” Echoes Matt. He’s slumped in the booth, nearly spilling out of it and in danger of sliding right off his seat and under the table.

“Liiiiiaaaaarrrrrrrr.” Edd pokes a finger into Tord’s cheek and smooshes his face around, “Liar, liar, pants on ffiiirrreeeeee.”

Tord pouts and shoves Edd’s hand away. The two of them get into a half-hearted battle of attempted slaps, waving their hands loosely in the air at each other while Tom laughs. They end up just kind of pushing at each other, making stupid little whining noises and slurring swears out every so often. Tom is thoroughly entertained by this but everyone stops when they hear a broken-hearted sniffle coming from Matt.

There are bright tears in the ginger’s eyes and his voice is all wobbly and straining not to cry, “S-stop fi-fi-fightiiiinnnnggg! We’re supposed to b-be frriiiiieeeenndddsss!” And he gives a little hiccup as a few tears do manage to escape down his flushed cheeks.

“Aawwww noooo, this is why we don’ let Matt drink…” Tom flops against the back of the booth, sulking that his buzz has been ruined, “He always cries. Drunk cries. Crybaby drunk.”

“Stop being mean!” Matt sobs and puts his face in his hands.

Tord is making shushing noises, cooing and patting Matt’s hair, “There, there, Matty, dooooonnn’ let the mean ‘hovah wi’ness get you down.”

“Think we should head home anyway,” Edd mutters, raising his hand to try and hail a server, “’s gettin’ late a-and we’re gonna be hungover as ffuuuuucccck in the mornin’.”

“Pussies.” Tom says but it lacks any venom. He heaves himself out of the booth, sways a bit, and then leans over to tug on Matt’s sleeve, “C’mon, Matt, we gotta go home.”

Matt’s still crying but he slides out of the booth and staggers out of the way to let Edd and Tord out. All four of them teeter dangerously out the door and into the crisp night air. Matt leans heavily on Tom’s shoulder, sniffing and hiccuping and smearing tears down his face. Tom acts like he hates it, but he’s got an arm around Matt’s waist and is keeping the ginger carefully upright and away from running into lamp posts or trash bins. Tord ends up tripping over his own feet nearly a block behind them before Edd takes pity and goes back for him. There’s a bit of a drunken kerfuffle and a lot of silly giggling but eventually Tord is draped over Edd’s back and they’re on their way again.

They trade insults and dumb jokes under street lamps and neon signs bleeding color into the dark. The streets are mostly empty, the night bus the noisiest thing rumbling on the pavement, the sidewalks only met with others like them—the drunken revelers making their way home in an alcoholic haze. Windows are dark, eyes closed for sleep in the night, shops shuttered and silent, the headlamps from the rarely passing vehicles burning streaks of bright light against their eyes and making them wince. The sidewalk seems tilted and wandering under their feet, the way back home familiar but only just.

Matt’s half asleep by the time they reach the house, nearly bent in half over Tom and mumbling unintelligibly into Tom’s drooping spikes. Tom fumbles his keys, drops them twice on the front stoop, giggling breathlessly each time, and nearly falls through the door when he gets it open. He shoves Matt off of him, pushes him onto the couch, and wanders into the kitchen where he can be heard clattering around in the cupboards. Edd deposits a sleeping Tord onto an armchair and flops onto the couch next to Matt, his eyes heavy, the warm lull of alcohol still simmering in his system.

“Oi!” Tom’s bark startles all three of them and Tord nearly jumps out of the chair as he’s forced into wakefulness, “Water firs’. Then bed.” And he shoves a glass of water into each other their hands. 

It’s tepid—pulled from the tap rather than the filtered jug in the fridge—but it’s pleasant and soothing. And if the other three weren’t drunk off their asses they’d probably be teasing Tom endlessly for babying them. But they drink the water in silence, minds wandering down fuzzy, alcohol fueled pathways with no destination. Tord’s head keeps drooping, his grip slackening on his cup of water before he jolts himself awake enough to readjust his grip and take a drink before he starts the process all over again. The other three aren’t fairing much better, their blinks slow and their movements sluggish, their faces still flushed with revelry and alcohol and good company. It’s amiable, if somewhat unusual, a camaraderie of souls united in drunken stupors with the distant threats of hangovers buried under dazed half sleep.

“M’ g’uh bed…” Edd slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth. He misses setting his empty cup on the coffee table the first few times, finally gets it right, and staggers to his feet. With all the urgency of a growing tree, he lumbers out of the sitting room and bumps his way down the hall into his bedroom.

Tord yawns, wide and loud, tears springing into the corners of his eyes. His efforts to rise from the armchair are feeble at best and Tom sighs in exasperation before grabbing Tord’s arm and hauling him into of the chair. Tord trips into him, the two of them stumbling backwards into Matt who’s also managed to get to his feet. The trio fall about giggling, hushing each other, hissing for silence until their laughter peters out into tired but happy sighs. Tom shoves Tord off of him and snickers when Tord nearly falls over trying to kick him. Matt hip checks Tom and then giggles shrilly as he runs down the hall to his own room, pushing Tord out of the way and sending him sprawling.

“You guys ‘r gonna be shit fer brains,” Tom says to no one in particular, leaning heavily against the doorframe of his bedroom “Can’ hold your drink worth…worth fuckin’, ah, shit.”

“Bi’sh…” Tord slurs and flips Tom the finger before slumping off to his own room.

The next day, Tom has the house to himself until around mid-afternoon when Edd finally stumbles into the kitchen for some water, squinting painfully in the light. 

“I am never playing drinking games with you again,” He says with scowl.

Tom only laughs at him.


End file.
